


In sickness and health

by hannibalnuxvoxmica



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bath Sharing, Breakfast, Cuddling, Dogs, Flirting, Hannibal is doting, M/M, Obligatory cabin, Sick Hannibal, Sick Will, Sickfic, Will is bossy when concerned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7969597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalnuxvoxmica/pseuds/hannibalnuxvoxmica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hannibal falls ill, and Will becomes a bossy caretaker.</p><p>Hope you enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Hannibal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal falls ill, and Will becomes a bossy caretaker.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Will found Hannibal exactly where he knew he would.

“Hannibal, are you kidding me?”

Not in bed. Not laying down as he should be, as Will  _told_  him he should be, but in the kitchen, already preparing what looks to be a lengthy dinner that would mean hours spent on his feet. Hours spent not resting  _as he should be_.

“Will, I’m perfectly able-“

Will plucks the knife from Hannibal’s grasp, dropping it onto the cutting board messily, sending bits of cilantro flying, and pulls Hannibal by his hand out of the kitchen.

“You need  _rest_ , not to make fucking dinner.”

“This is nothing more than a cold-“

“A cold wouldn’t cause your fever to skyrocket. Sit.” The last word he delivers as a firm command, pointing to the sofa he dragged him to. Hannibal obeys, barely, his face a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Not unusual when it comes to Will Graham.

“ _I_  will make dinner, and  _you_  will sit here while I do and wait,” Will snatches a throw blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over Hannibal, a gesture that makes him smile despite himself.

“You’re very bossy when you’re concerned, did you know that?”

“And you’re very stubborn when you’re sick.” 

 _And annoying._ He finishes adjusting the blanket and begins to walk toward the kitchen.

“Stay there. I’ll be able to hear if you move.”

Will disregards the ingredients left on the counter. He puts the perishable items back into the refrigerator and replaces them with his own: chicken, butter, onion, and celery. He melts the butter in the largest pot he can find, sautés the onion, adds the celery, and afterward throws everything else in: vegetable broth (not canned or from a carton, Hannibal insists he makes his own) chicken (actual, non-human chicken), and lets it to simmer for a little while until everything looks cooked.

Hannibal smiles as he is offered a bowl, filled generously. He examines the contents inside as if he didn’t already know what was it was.

Chicken soup. A familiar dish between them.

“This is what I made for you while you were in hospital,” Hannibal says. Will sits on the opposite end of the sofa, cradling his bowl.

“The version you made was slightly more complicated, this I could list the ingredients of on one hand.”

“The sentiment remains the same though, does it not?” Hannibal takes a spoonful and tastes it; simple ingredients, simple flavors, and because Will is the one who made it it couldn’t be more perfect. He peeks over his spoon as he lowers it, Will looking expectantly just beyond.

“It’s delicious. Thank you.”

Will’s face flushes. He offers a smile and then looks away. Hannibal has no doubt he would reduce the mountains to nothing but dust if it meant that for it, Will would smile at him just like that.

He will be better by the morning. He always is. Illnesses, if they manage to latch on in the first place, only ever stay for a matter of hours before they’re gone. Will has no real cause to worry.

But…still, Hannibal can’t help but want to bask in the attention, if only for a little while.

Will permits him to stand in the kitchen while he cleans up, so he does. Despite his insistence that Hannibal is the more nit-picky and obsessively clean of the two of them, Will is not at all an untidy person. Unorganized, maybe a bit, but not untidy. He fastidiously wipes down the counters, all the way under appliances and to the corners, bending over  _just slightly_  as he does. He washes their bowls and spoons, and after scrubs the sink, forearms flexing strong and rippled…

Will shoots him a look out of the corner of his eye. He must have been staring. 

“Hannibal.”

“Yes?”

“You’re sick.”

“And?”

“We’re not having sex while you’re sick.”

“It would make us both feel better,” he argues.

Will groans, “You’ve failed to convince me.”

Hannibal smiles and moves closer, erasing the space between them. “Should I be trying to convince you?”

A jolt. 

“That isn’t exactly what I meant,” Will dries his hands, doing his best and failing to ignore the thrumming in his chest. Trying to pretend that he is harder to seduce than he actually is. A lesson he has never quite learned.

Will turns from the sink, and Hannibal brushes a fallen curl out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. His touch is always so painfully affectionate. His love leaks from every pore, enough for Will to drown in. Enough that he frequently does.

Hannibal ducks his head just so, and instead of kissing him properly as Will expected, he kisses him on the cheek. Light and fleeting and barely there.

 _“Thank you for dinner,”_ Hannibal whispers warm against his skin, then pulls away.

“I think I’ll shower before turning in…” adding as he leaves, “…if you’d like to join me.” A coy smirk spread across his face.

He really is annoying when he’s ill.

Will watches him leave, cursing under his breath as soon as Hannibal rounds the corner, out of sight.

_Goddamn it._

He hears the shower turn on, the sound of water cascading bringing images to mind unbidden. He curses again, just before prying himself from the kitchen floor and following after his frustrating, stubborn cannibal who Will finds impossible not to love.

He really never does learn his lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought below!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hannibalnuxvomica) Come hang out!


	2. Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will falls ill, and fluff ensues. Enjoy!

Will’s eyes ache at the intrusion of light. His head pounds like a jackhammer. His entire body hurts, and despite how hot he feels he shivers as if caught in a cold breeze.

If this was six years ago, still living by himself in Wolf Trap, he would have known exactly why he felt as if he were dying a slow, painful death, and moreover he would have felt at least slightly deserving of it… but he is far from Wolf Trap, and this isn’t a hangover.

He can’t remember the last time he drank enough to make himself sick in the morning, simply because there hasn’t been a reason to.

He lets out a pitiful moan.

“Will, lie on your back for me.”

He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to move at all, but he does as asked. Hannibal’s voice cuts smooth through the rushing sound of blood filling his ears, and Will feels a cool towel lay across his forehead.

“I think I’m sick,” Will croaks.

“You are,” Hannibal tells him, “but it’s nothing serious, just a case of the flu. I smelled it on you two days ago.”

“You could have warned me,” Will moans, trying to pull the blankets closer. Hannibal helps him.

“I didn’t know it would strike you this hard,” Hannibal admits, “our last two dinners have been of medicinal value, but it seems it wasn’t enough.” Will hears an apologetic tone in his voice.

“So that’s why you fed me soup twice in a row.”

“Yes,” Hannibal says.

“And here I thought you were just getting lazy.”

Hannibal chuckles at this, a sound that pleases every inch of Will.

“Are you able to drink? You’ll have to sit up, but I have medicine for you, and something to help your throat.”

Will attempts to move his legs and finds it exhausting. Even lifting his head takes a substantial amount of effort.

Hannibal comes up with a solution. “Let me help you prop your head up, that should be enough.”

Will grunts in agreement, and Hannibal helps Will to slide another pillow behind his head. Once propped up and comfortable, Hannibal gives him medicine to help his head and lower his fever, downing it with water that tastes of mint and lemon, and not long after he falls asleep.

*****

While he rested, Hannibal stayed beside him; close enough that Will could roll over, bury his head in the crook of his arm or rest it on his shoulder if he wanted -and want he did, but he didn’t lie as close as he usually does. Practically smothering Will with his body while he is bludgeoned with a fever and muscle aches seemed to be not the best idea.

Hannibal is relieved when Will begins to wake, and for the moment seems his usual self. Sleepily stretching out just a bit before snuggling closer, letting out a long contented sigh. Will at first had a habit of opening his eyes almost immediately upon waking, looking around as if to assure himself that he is still in the same place he fell asleep, that he is not alone. It was around then that Hannibal took to nearly smothering him each night. That way, Will didn’t have to search to find Hannibal every morning as if he had lost him, and Hannibal didn’t have to lament the cruel distance between them.

Will snuffles, nuzzling against Hannibal’s chest.

“Morning,” he mumbles, half awake.

Hannibal buries his smile in Will’s hair, kissing him. “Not quite, but close. It’s actually the evening.”

Will raises his head, squinting around the room, and then groans. His head hits the pillow with a _flumph_.

“I almost forgot I was sick.”

“Soon you’ll be better,” Hannibal assures, then asks, “shall I draw you a bath?”

Will gives neither a committal yes nor a committal no, so Hannibal does what he thinks is best. He begins to fill the tub, adding oils that smell of vanilla and warm honey. He takes special care with the temperature, making it hot enough to sting but not to scorch. A good bath doesn’t go lukewarm within the first ten minutes.

Will makes it out of bed slowly, and Hannibal helps him to undress once they reach the bathroom.

“Would you prefer if I was naked, as well?” Hannibal asks amusedly as Will undoes his shirt buttons, trailing down his torso.

“I would prefer if you were my backrest.”

Hannibal does nothing in protest, and settles into the bath first, obliging him. Will’s muscles rejoice loudly when in the water, and he sighs, relieved.

“Comfortable?” Hannibal murmurs against him, leaning to kiss his hair line, his temple.

“Very.”

Will rests his head by the crook of Hannibal’s shoulder, and Hannibal settles in, closing his eyes.

Minutes pass, and from the periphery of his consciousness, he hears Hannibal’s voice.  

“Somewhere in me is still the wonder if all of this is somehow a dream,” Hannibal says, his voice nothing more than a murmur. Barely audible, as if he said it in his sleep. Will’s eyes crack open, and after a moment’s consideration they close again.

Hannibal has done his share of meddling in Will’s life, painting mayhem in broad strokes -he supposes they both have, but Will finds it unlikely that Hannibal would dream him afflicted by something as mundane and boring as the flu.

In his mind he presents this argument out loud, but in reality it never quite reaches his lips. He dozes instead, lulled by the rise and fall of Hannibal’s chest and the waves of the water. And when Hannibal says no more, he drifts completely away.

*****

Two days pass, and Will becomes unbearably hungry as his fever breaks, so Hannibal prepares a small buffet for him.

“I recalled that you have been mumbling something in your sleep about breakfast food,” Hannibal says, setting a platter in front of him with enough to feed two. Will can’t help but smile as he picks up his fork.

“Do I often talk about French toast in my sleep?” he asks, shoveling a bite of scrambled egg and sausage into his mouth.

“Not usually,” Hannibal says, happily watching as Will eats, “but you seemed very adamant about it, so I made sure to take note.”

Will wants to ask if he usually talks in his sleep at all, and if so, what he talks about when it isn’t hungered ramblings…But somewhere in between the second bite and the third, he decides to leave it for another day.

Will eats his share and then some, and after breakfast Hannibal suggests a walk. Their pack, consisting only of two for the moment (Will may or may not have plans of increasing this number), rush out the door bounding and leaping. Will follows, throwing a single ball far into the field for them to chase.

“This is a good place for them,” Will remarks. Their little getaway, a cabin much bigger on the inside than it at first seems, is very reminiscent of Wolf Trap. Will wondered at first if this was on purpose, if Hannibal had chosen this place with Will in mind; rustic living, secluded, surrounded by trees and a river not too far from the front door…

Will didn’t wonder for too long. The truth of it was obvious.

“It is,” Hannibal agrees, watching the two dogs run and roughhouse as if they were still pups, “I’m sure neither one of them would do well in an apartment life.”

“Neither would we, for that matter,” Will looks at him, smiling. He’s certain that this is not the environment Hannibal would have chosen for himself had Will not been a factor to consider, but despite it, Hannibal hardly seems displeased with the circumstances.

Will still concerns himself with operas and ballrooms and flashy dinners, a part of him insecure that Hannibal doesn’t have here everything he wants. Everything he needs. They are quite different in their dwellings, and isn’t it uncomfortable for Hannibal to try and fit into a space made for Will? Small, cozy, but cut off from the rest of the world. No dinners to be had but what he cooks for two, no music to be played but what he plays for Will after wine and conversation, before the fireplace has died to barely a spark.

It is a concern that would be preposterous to Hannibal if he ever heard it.

The weather has chilled, turning from summer to autumn before their eyes, and Will rubs his hands together to generate warmth. His cheeks and the tip of his nose have turned pink in the cold. He grins widely as the dogs return, bending down to throw the ball for them again. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets, looking hunched and rumpled and still just as charming. He strikes up conversation about the red of the trees, and it divulges into something else, thought and feeling, evolving from here to the boat yards of his youth and back. Each sentence Hannibal turns over in his mind, each word he tucks away inside himself, safe and treasured.

They decide to turn back when the wind starts to bite. Will may be healthy again, but he is still lacking energy, and the cold seems to steadily zap him of it.

When they arrive back, Hannibal lights the fireplace and feeds the dogs while Will rests on the sofa. He prepares dinner, something special to celebrate Will’s recovery, and they drink wine as easily as it flows into their glasses. They cleave together in a tangled mess, sighs of relief and of want intermingled, and afterwards they sleep without a mote of space between them.

A preposterous idea, indeed.

Of course he has everything.

He has Will.

And he only has everything to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And as always, I'd love to hear what you thought below!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hannibalnuxvomica) Come hang out!


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